


Not That Sneaky

by ashisfriendly



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, Mutual Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5415770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/pseuds/ashisfriendly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Ben and Leslie masturbate for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not That Sneaky

Ben sleeps too much.

According to him, that’s not true; according to him, _he_ sleeps like a normal person and _she_ needs to sleep more. But that’s ridiculous because when you’re asleep, you’re not getting anything done. Her dreams are great and all, and just as productive as any other think tank in her life, but she can’t write anything down and she forgets too much. Besides, ever since her father died, she never could sleep very well at all.

Earlier that evening, Leslie promised Ben she’d be in bed by 1 o’clock. It is now 2:15, but Leslie isn’t worried at all about Ben noticing her neglectful behavior. He hardly wakes up when she crawls in bed, getting under the covers on time or not. So, with pride, she brushes her teeth in the spare bathroom where she keeps an extra brush, and sneaks into their bedroom, slipping in under the covers.

The crappy thing is, she’s incredibly horny.

Waking up Ben with any number of ways involving his penis (a blowjob is her preferred method), will definitely result in her being found out staying up too late, so she sighs, sliding her hand underneath the waistband of her snowflake pajama pants.

Her back arches with the contact and she tries to hold in a breath, sucking on her lips to keep herself quiet. The warmth of Ben’s body beside her makes her toes curl and she looks at the mess of dark hair and the angles of his back as she pushes her fingers around her clit, dipping lower. She gives herself the release of breath, trying to stay as quiet as possible. 

Masturbating like this, in bed in the early hours of the morning with only her hand, reminds her of a life many years ago. Before Ben even came along, when she knew she had to sleep and she had to get herself snoozing and this was the best method. No fuss, no muss, just her quick fingers and very, very, very lucky ease into climax to send her off to dreamland. 

Leslie was never even into making it last long before, with a man or with herself, but now? She likes a little extra. So she pushes her other hand up her shirt and flicks her nipples, rubs them like Ben does but her little fingers don’t do her breasts the same justice as Ben’s long ones do. She hums, imagining them, his whole hand overwhelming her chest and squeezing. 

She moans. Ben stirs.

Her heart is jumping against her chest, hands completely still, two fingers inside of her. She’s warm and wet now, and she can’t help it, she doesn’t even mean to, but she moves. Her fingers push and flick up before pulling out again and she shoves them in a little rougher, just like Ben would do.

Ben doesn’t move again so Leslie keeps this pace going, tries to channel Ben’s unrelenting thrusts but the angle is all wrong and her fingers are too short. She pushes in a third and the stretch is unbelievable. Her other hand plays with her breasts, her nipples hard along her palm, sensitive below her fingers. She squeezes her eyes shut and imagines herself in The Oval Office, spread on her desk with Ben’s head between her thighs and his fingers replaced by hers. 

“Madam President,” he’d say, “you’re gorgeous.”

Okay, so she’s cheating, he’s said that before, but it works perfectly in this fantasy. Her moans are stuck in her chest, her throat, but they’re still sneaking through her clenched lips, but she can’t help it. She sees him there, her sexy, slender Vice President husband -- with a beard now because she says so -- admiring her, eyes glued to her pussy while his fingers tease and fuck her. 

“Ben,” she whispers. Her eyes snap open, and she slowly moves her head to look at him.

He’s awake. So very awake. He’s adorable and still sleepy eyed, hair flat on his right side and wild on the left. He’s smirking, elbow bent with his head resting in his hand. 

“Please,” he says, voice rough with sleep, “continue.”

Her face is hot, heart jammed up in her throat so she’s unable to speak. Ben takes this moment of silent stillness to move the comforter down from her body. He growls, looking at the display. Her shirt is up past her breasts, hand covering one, while her other hand is gone in her pants, the waistband stretched around her knuckles, revealing the start of her curls. 

Ben sits up carefully and grabs her pajamas, sliding them down her legs. He tosses them aside and goes for her shirt next, Leslie’s heart hammering as he throws the shirt behind him.

“Keep going, please.”

Leslie nods, doing as she’s told. His eyes roam her body, pupils dark and jaw clenched. Leslie pushes her fingers inside again, just for a moment, and then circles her clit, clutching her breast. Everything is dialed up to ten now, with Ben’s eyes glued on her, she can’t seem to breathe, can’t filter any moans that escape her, can’t even fight the tremble in her spine, the quake in her muscles. 

Ben sits up on his knees, facing her. He’s only in his boxers, a plain black pair that frame the bones of his hips like his torso could hang in the Louvre. She reaches to touch him, but he drops his chin in warning. Okay, no touching. She’s fine, she can handle that. Maybe.

Ben pulls his boxers halfway down his thigh, his dick springing out of them, already hard and beautiful. Leslie salivates, licks her lips, yearns for it, but it’s clear the second he grips his cock, that she won’t have any of it. She’ll just have to watch.

Like he does. He keeps his eyes on her, studying her face as her eyes roll back with the circle of her fingers, bites his bottom lip as he follows the movement of her hand along her breast, moans her name when she plunges her fingers in again. Ben’s hand, so much bigger, so much rougher, so much of what she wants rather than her own, is perfect on his dick. He slides up and down, knuckles clenching, wrist turning every few pumps. He pushes it down and rubs, pulls it back up and circles the tip with his thumb before going back to long strokes. He leaks and Leslie’s mouth waters.

“Ben,” she moans.

“Leslie,” he responds, inching a little closer to her. She smiles, even he wants to break his own rules. He won’t, he never does.

Leslie moves the hand on her breast down, taking her time and giving Ben a show of her nails across the skin of her stomach, her hips. His hand moves faster, the muscles in his stomach clenching with each hot breath. The veins in his forearms create a burst of electricity in her gut that keeps roaring as her hand finally makes its way to her clit as her other hand works to push in and out of her. 

“Good Lord,” Ben sputters.

Leslie smiles, pride moving her faster. She wants to watch him but the sight of him, mixed with her own touch, makes her eyes roll and the lids fight to stay open. She arches her back and listens to the sounds they make together but entirely apart. 

His breaths are low and his moans hitch and stagger with their release. Hers are high and loud, much louder than his. He laces his sounds with the soft muttering of her name, of three word praise (“You’re so wet.”, “Like that, babydoll.”, “You look amazing.”) while she is only a mess of groans and his name. She’s getting close and she chases the peak while wanting to stay in this place of reaching, but Leslie climaxes easily and she’s never been very patient.

“Are you going to come?” Ben asks, as if he needs the clarification. His breathing has become so quick, his moans at their most perfect pitch that mean he’s close. His question is a little hopeful, too, as if he hopes they can come together.

“Yes,” Leslie says. “Yes, I’m -- fuck -- I’m, I’m, I’m--”

“Come, Leslie.” The incline at the end of her name tells her he’s close, too, that he’s just holding on long enough for her to fall over the edge with him.

But he doesn’t make it. The hot streams hit her stomach, her arms, her breasts first. She opens her eyes, watches him stroke himself as he drips onto her thigh, and screams his name just as her whole body tightens before releasing into oblivion. 

Her hands spring from her body as Leslie comes down, her moans turning into whines. Ben slides in next to her, then rolls on top of her, not concerned for the mess he just made on her skin. She wraps her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist. He’s still hard against her and the contact makes them both tremble. 

Ben kisses her neck and Leslie fights to find his lips to connect with hers. They finally do and she sighs into him, their bodies instinctively rocking even though they both are sensitive to the touch. 

“You’re not that sneaky,” Ben says against her lips. He rests his forehead on hers. “It’s late.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I just had to finish something.”

Ben kisses her nose and reaches down with one hand, tickling that sensitive spot right below her ribs. She wiggles and laughs until Ben slides off of her. They’re both covered in him now and the sight is enough to ask him to go down on her. She rubs her legs together instead, sleep coming to fetch her soon.

“I love you, please go to bed earlier.”

“I’ll try.”

Ben sighs, dropping his head into his pillow. “Please.”

“I said I’ll try.” Leslie pushes his shoulder and he rolls onto his back. Leslie nestles in next to him, snuggling her face into his neck.

He yawns. “Pinky promise?”

Leslie reaches over his chest and hooks her pinky with his. They don’t unlock their fingers, only drop their connected hands to the sticky warmth of Ben’s chest. He’s already relaxed and pleasantly half snoring, but she tells him she loves him anyway.

“I love you, too,” Ben mumbles.

He turns his head and presses his lips to her hair and stays there until Leslie’s eyes fall closed and she, finally, sleeps.


End file.
